


And With Softness Touching

by chivalryandgreentea



Series: Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Fainting, Fever, Gen, Hurt Lancelot (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27732829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chivalryandgreentea/pseuds/chivalryandgreentea
Summary: Merlin let out a breath of relief each time Lancelot avoided Arthur’s attacks, but with each attack and parry Lancelot lagged; hardly another minute passed before his shoulders started to slump again, and when Arthur next attacked with a hit that should have been easily blocked, Lancelot took the hit and crumpled to the ground, motionless.****Prompt: "Don't sit up yet. Just relax."
Relationships: Lancelot & Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin)
Series: Prompt Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028640
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	And With Softness Touching

“Is there something wrong with Lancelot today?” Leon’s voice broke through Merlin’s thoughts that morning as they watched the sparring match on the training field. Merlin had long since tired of watching these endless training sessions, and was indulging in a daydream about his soft bed in the few precious moments before he would be called to perform his servant duties. Now, though, he paid attention, and he followed Leon’s gaze to where Lancelot and Arthur were sparring. 

Watching Lancelot move, Merlin found it impossible not to notice how sluggish Lancelot’s reflexes were, how often he was being hit. Lancelot’s usual silent strength and refined skill had won him the respect of many, and on any other day he and Arthur were almost perfectly matched - which made Lancelot's current state all the more noticeable. Arthur frowned and called out to Lancelot, echoing Leon’s question to Merlin. 

Lancelot shook his head and squared his shoulders, his stance determined; even from a distance, though, Merlin could see that his weapon-bearing hand was shaking. Something _was_ wrong, even if his friend wouldn’t admit it. Leon, who was keeping a close watch as well, exchanged a worried look with Merlin.

Though he didn’t press Lancelot further about it, Merlin suspected that Arthur was not coming on so aggressively as he had before. That, or Lancelot was pushing himself just hard enough to parry the oncoming blows from Arthur’s sword in time; his thrusts were weak, however, and he visibly tired with each move. Merlin let out a breath of relief each time Lancelot avoided Arthur’s attacks, but with each attack and parry Lancelot lagged; hardly another minute passed before his shoulders started to slump again, and when Arthur next attacked with a hit that should have been easily blocked, Lancelot took the hit and crumpled to the ground, motionless. 

Merlin’s mouth suddenly went dry, and for a second he was unable to do anything more than watch the scene unfold in horror. Then he was running, a thousand possibilities and fears racing in his mind at once, until he reached Lancelot and dropped to his knees where the fallen knight lay on his back, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. Merlin pressed gentle fingers to Lancelot’s neck, finding a rapid and thready pulse beneath hot skin.

“He’s burning up,” Merlin murmured, pushing a few strands of hair from Lancelot’s forehead that had fallen over his eyes. Arthur, who’d crouched down beside him, had his brows knit together in worry.

“He never said a word about it to me. How long has he been like this?” 

Merlin tried to think back to earlier that morning when he’d first seen Lancelot in the castle, but a pang of guilt shot through him. He hadn’t been paying attention. He should have noticed - a fever wasn't something so easy to hide. A moment later, Merlin was forced to dismiss these thoughts, because already Lancelot was beginning to stir. 

“Merlin?” Lancelot’s voice sounded distracted and confused, and when his eyes began to flutter open, Merlin let out a relieved sigh. As Lancelot shifted on the ground, Merlin shook his head.

“Don’t sit up yet. Just relax.” He ran his fingers through Lancelot’s hair again. “You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well, Lance.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Lancelot said, his eyes frustratingly earnest and sincere. The briefest look of pain flashed across his face, and he closed his eyes again. “Arthur, I -”

“Don’t apologize,” Arthur said firmly, “it’s alright, though I expect you to tell someone next time you know you’re ill. We would not think any less of you. Camelot needs its bravest knights in good health.” He smiled a little, then looked up at Merlin. “Come on, help me take him to his chambers.” With one of them supporting Lancelot on each side, they carried him to his chambers and laid him on his bed. 

As Merlin began to pull off Lancelot’s boots, Arthur stopped halfway out the door and addressed Merlin. “I’ll send for Gaius, and make sure he receives everything he needs. I trust I leave him in more or less competent hands?” Merlin rolled his eyes and nodded, and Arthur left, a stifling somberness filling the room with his departure. 

“Here,” Merlin said, helping Lancelot sit up. He was struggling to keep his head up now that he no longer had to maintain the pretense of being fine. As Merlin removed Lancelot's hauberk and gambeson, Lancelot let out a small cry of pain, his hand flying to his side. 

“Cramps?” Merlin asked quietly. Lancelot nodded, breathing hard and slurring another string of apologies as Merlin finished removing all of his clothes and dressing him in a nightshirt. Sweat beaded his forehead, and Merlin finally let him settle down on his back again. “Do you want me to get anything for you?”

Lancelot squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and Merlin could see his muscles tense underneath his thin nightshirt. “Cold - ’m so cold.”

Merlin gathered some more blankets from the wardrobe in the room, and tucked them around his friend’s shivering frame. He passed a light hand over Lancelot’s forehead again - it seemed he was growing hotter by the minute.

He moved the chamber pot inconspicuously in front of Lancelot’s bed in case the need for it should arise, then seated himself on the edge of the bed. His heart tugged in his chest as he watched Lancelot curl up on himself in pain. All the movement from sparring was no doubt making it worse, and Merlin again felt a flicker of frustration that Lancelot hadn’t said anything, and had instead _chosen_ to push himself too far and take Arthur’s hits. But he knew now was not the time to lecture Lancelot about that.

“I should go,” Merlin said gently, “you’ll need to drink plenty of water, and I can fetch some soup and warm cloths for your cramps -” 

“Stay,” Lancelot whispered, meeting his eyes through half-closed lids. “Till Gaius comes?” 

Merlin smiled a little, and attempted to disguise his worry under a more lighthearted tone. “Alright, but only because you’re too pitiful to leave alone.” He reached over and gave Lancelot’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and in the silence that followed as they waited for Gaius, not another word passed between them.


End file.
